winter.

magnetic poetry

eyelids.

some pictures with quotes. going to Oregon tomorrow. ∆ 

And

I kissed you and thought of Walt Whitman poems and how the moments we want each other most are perfectly synced in a firework display. 

(photo from tumblr) 

A long time ago..

I keep wanting to write letters to the people I love. For some reason I think writing letters will sufficiently get all the little ideas that are really just warmth on my skin all collected and able to enter the physical world. So dear you, here is tomorrow. Here is to living on. Here is to Saturday. Here is to you. Congratulations, you captured a bird. No, the bird flew to you. The bird gave up it’s wings for its new found curiosity. Look at me. I haven’t smiled like this in far too long. I want to tell you so much. Everything. I’d grow old with you. I’ve known you for barely 3 months. I like human beings. Too much. It’s my fatal flaw. I want to wake up to them. Sleep with them. Drink with them. 

Beginnings

Recently, I have been thinking about where I want to go with my creative abilities and photography skills. I feel as though I am waiting for the perfect shot, and won't settle for less. I took a picture of my bed, because it is simple. I need to realize everything has the potential to be the "perfect shot" and that I need to go through many pictures to find it. Everything is just waiting to happen; just light the flame.

Bad film.

Bad News.

"It's history. It's poetry."